


Cloudy with a chance

by DrawingWithGreen13



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Connor Murphy Lives (Dear Evan Hansen), Evan Hansen is a good boyfriend, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Bipolar Disorder, M/M, Self-Harm, Treebros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrawingWithGreen13/pseuds/DrawingWithGreen13
Summary: Back to you in the studio, Jim(Or; Connor has a relapse, Evan is there to make the storms go away)
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	Cloudy with a chance

**Author's Note:**

> ((TW: Self harm, specifically wrist cutting))
> 
> This is part 2 of my Sincerely Us gift exchange with @splattees! They requested hurt/comort Treebros, so I supplied. I went a little more dark than typical hurt/comfort I think so just a warning, but that's what the tags and TW are for.

It's always been like this.  
  
Days would flow. The sun would shine and then go out, and people would exist without worry. It would be normal, it would be what he wanted for years, what he's always wished of. Needed. It would be a balm to his cuts.  
  
Cuts.  
  
Then something would change.  
  
The clouds would turn grey above him, and everything would become deafening. Pounding like a drum in a street, piercing like a broken record player, painful like a life he's lived for so long. Usually something would cause it, a word that reminded him of his fucked up psychology or an action that brought back memories of orange heat and bottles, something to at least bring sense into the madness of his brain.  
  
It was scarier when there wasn't a trigger.  
  
It was a sign that no matter how better he got, he could relapse at any moment. He could fall back into his 'Alice in Wonderland' spiral and never escape. His mind could cave in and amongst the rubble, not a shred of hope can be found. He could never get better. It's a damnation.  
  
He's damned to be the same freak he's always been for the rest of his life.  
  
He's used to feeling the stinging pain in his arms, though it's odd to remember the feeling after so many years. He never did this as much as using a lighter, either. Lighters were easier, they didn't look as suspicious as something sharp and sometimes they didn't even cause any burns. Fire is also pretty. But the same could be argued for blood.  
  
And fire wouldn't be enough to win the beauty contest this time.  
  
It's not nice to remember that his parents would be just as scared as him if they saw him in the bathroom like this. He wasn't the only one working to improve; his parents were on the same path, and they really were getting better. And seeing this would be a reset. He'd have to go on more retreats, and stay home from school, and live knowing that he's a threat to his parents' happiness. But everything is too loud, everything is too painful, and no one's punishing him.  
  
He can't get away with it.  
  
It's his fault he's the way he is.  
  
He swears that the bathroom is losing its colour, or maybe he's just dizzy from the iron in his nose. He swears that his arms aren't even that red, just leaking like a faulty pipe. The grey starts to lighten, but it's still overcast. Cold. It's not helping. He's so tired.  
  
He's crying.  
  
Such a small sound. He hasn't cried like this in years. He's not screaming, and he's not pulling at his hair. It's just sobs and hiccups and it's so quiet. Like no one can hear. Like he doesn't want anyone to hear.  
  
He's crying.  
  
And someone wipes his face.  
  
There's a blurred figure in front of him. Someone with caramel hair, and a voice that makes the racing in his heat slow down to a gentle jog. It's telling him things like "hey, hey, Connor, it's okay-" as something gently wipes at his arm, and suddenly the smell of iron isn't as strong anymore-  
  
And Connor sees Evan cleaning his arms and wrapping them in bandages, cheeks wet with his own tears. His hands are trembling.  
  
"...Evan?" Connor croaks, throat sore from the weeping. Evan doesn't even look up, too focused on making sure Connor's arm is okay. The bandages are tight, but secure and comforting. His hand is slack but Evan is gripping it so tightly it's like he's afraid of it falling off.  
  
Evan doesn't respond with words. Instead, his arms open and he falls into Connor, hugging him like he's never letting go. He'll never let go. "Tell me what happened."  
  
His voice wavers as he speaks.  
  
Connor can see the colour return around him as Evan's body warms his own. A candle lighting another candle. He finds it fascinating that their bodies seem to fit perfectly with each other, slotting together like puzzle pieces. He slowly hugs back and takes a deep breath.  
  
"It just happened," he mumbles. "Nothing caused it- I just got scared, and...I don't know-"  
  
"Shh," Evan's arms have found their way to Connor's back and have started gently rubbing circles. He has the most gentle touches, even with such little hands. "Take your time."  
  
It's scary to think about. That it happened again. That it _can_ happen again, and that there can be nothing to trigger it. Connor knows that the world can be a cruel, unfair place, but this must be intentional. It's always him. He's the one who has to suffer, feel the pain, never know if he'll be okay one day and be terrified for his own life the next. He thought he was recovering. He always thinks wrong.  
  
"If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to," says Evan suddenly. He finally looks up, and the streaks on his face have dried out, but his eyes are rimmed with red and are lidded heavily. Connor suspects he looks the same. "D'you wanna just- go to your room?"  
  
He doesn't need to reply for Evan to lift him off of the tiles and gently guide him out of the bathroom. The hallway is much darker, and the strain in Connor's eyes eases, threatening to put him to sleep right in Evan's grasp. He's placed onto his bed before he can collapse onto the floor.  
  
Evan lies down next to him.  
  
It's been a long few months for the both of them. Things weren't right and they knew it (and the bandages on Connor's arm tells him that they still aren't right), and they were so, so tired. It takes multiple people, friends, professionals, it even takes a few pills to make the sky clear up some days, and even then, the forecast can be wrong. But getting through it together is like a crutch to a broken leg. It helps. It won't heal the bone immediately, but without it, the healing would take twice as long. Neither of them knew who was the crutch and who was the broken leg. It was too tiring to think about.  
  
They both look up at Connor's ceiling. The lights are out, but the curtains are open. Evan is proud of Connor for that. It gives the room a natural and comforting glow.  
  
It's quiet.  
  
"...hey," chimes Evan, view now pointed toward Connor's bookshelf. It's overflowing. "I didn't know you liked The Perks of Being a Wallflower."  
  
Connor follows Evan's gaze, and finds himself smiling. "Ah, yeah. I like it a lot. I didn't know _you_ liked it."  
  
"I've read it once. I don't remember much about it."  
  
"Have you seen the movie?"  
  
Evan nods.  
  
"Did you know the author is the guy who directed it?"  
  
Evan's eyes widen, far more than Connor expects. "No way! I didn't know he directed."  
  
Connor feels his chest swell. Evan is usually the one to spout facts about his favourite things, and every time he manages to tell him something he doesn't know, he understands why that's the case. "He's directed a few things. You know Juno?"  
  
The conversations goes on from there, about books and movies and Stephen Chbosky, about how Connor's room seems lighter than usual even with the window open, about how Connor is feeling, does he feel better? Does his arm hurt? Does he need to talk about anything? He says he's fine, and he himself is surprised by that. Yes, his arm still hurts, but he doesn't feel like crying again. Things are clearer in his head, the cloud is gone for now. He's a bit tired, and he can see that Evan is too, so they decide to get close and lie down together, body in body. People really are like puzzle pieces.  
  
It's quiet.  
  
"...hey," Evan chimes, and this time, Connor is already smiling.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"I'm proud of you," A small kiss on his knuckles. "I really am."  
  
A warm glow in his chest. A glimmer.  
  
"I'm proud of you too."  
  
It's not always like this.


End file.
